While I’ve been to the occasional football match over the years with my dad, I’m clueless when it comes to who actually plays it. So when Jordan* approached me on a night out three years ago, I didn’t have the faintest idea who he was.
I was 20 years old and on a night out with my friends at our local Oceana, the kind of evening we usually spent avoiding chat-up lines from the boys in our lectures, not bumping into Premier League midfielders. I saw him looking at me from across the bar, surrounded by men swigging posh vodka from the bottle. In hindsight, I should have guessed then.
He was the best-looking man in the club – olive skin and green eyes, a lean, muscular body and a naughty smile – so when he walked over to our table and asked if we wanted to join his friends, we didn’t think twice. We were in an Oceana, after all. Hot men were in short supply.
After a few minutes the rest of the group made their way to the dance floor, leaving the two of us alone. Jordan was even better close up, and it wasn’t long before we were kissing like teenagers. His undivided attention was such a turn-on; I brushed my fingertips up his leg and looked him straight in the eye as I felt his trousers tighten. He nodded his head to leave. I needed no encouragement.
In the taxi, he pulled me on top of him and kissed me hard. Outside his flat, Jordan led me by the hand through the plush-carpeted lobby (not exactly the student digs I was used to) and into his flat, heading straight for the bedroom. Lying back on his silk sheets, he kissed his way up my legs, before pulling my knickers aside and pushing his tongue deep into me. I pulled his hair with my hands as he moved his tongue – first slowly, then quicker over my clit, again and again, until finally my legs trembled as I came in his mouth.
He slid back up to kiss my mouth, while he unbuttoned my top and stroked my breasts. Leaning back, he slowly stripped off and rolled on a condom, giving me the perfect view of his body and hard cock, before pushing inside me. He knew exactly what he was doing and, just as I was about to climax a second time, he effortlessly turned us both over so I was on top.
I’d never been with a man who was so dominant in bed, but it felt exciting to have someone the same age as me taking control. He guided my hands back down to my clit and we both finally came – together. He kissed my neck, and we fell asleep.
When I woke up the next morning, Jordan was brewing coffee and cooking bacon. It was only then – lying in his bed, with team photos and framed newspaper clippings
on the wall – that it finally dawned on me who he was. I couldn’t believe it. He laughed as I admitted I hadn’t recognised him, then dropped me home and kissed me goodbye.
I didn’t expect to hear from him again but he texted me that night and we spent a few more nights together over the next couple of months. Eventually we lost touch when he was transferred to another team, but I still smile when I see his face in the newspaper. I know footballers get a bad rep, but Jordan was the ultimate gent.
*Name has been changed
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